My Epitome
by McGonagall's Bola
Summary: Minerva muses about her marriage, one late Saturday night.


There are a great many words that can be used to describe a woman, but not one of them does mine truly justice. I feel I'm incredibly fortunate, that I can say that the most wonderful of beings the world has known belongs to me, and I to her. I know how most everyone describes 'perfection' as flawless, but no such thing exists in this life. My wife's still perfect, though, and she's absolutely perfect, in the way she fits me like we are two puzzle pieces that were scattered across the universe yet managed to find and connect with each other still across time and space.

None of the words which anyone might use to describe a woman are enough to describe my wife. Maybe that's because all of those words have been overused for all that ever had but a hint of them but weren't the epitome of them the woman of my life is indeed.

Softness, for instance. One would call the small petals of a flower 'soft', or silk upon skin. The softness of my beautiful wife's skin is unmatched by anything worldly that's either tangible or not, though, and when my wife's lips or fingertips touch any which part of me, she's softer than any petal of any flower or the best quality's silk could be.

Beauty, for instance. One would call the way in which a garden of flowers blossoms in seedtime months and summer 'beautiful'. One would call sunrises or sunsets or the mountains and valleys and any other natural wonders 'beautiful'. Yet nothing's more beautiful or wondrous than my soul's mate. Have you ever seen it, the way her eyes shine when she is mischievous or how those soft chocolate orbs light up when she smiles with sincere happiness? Have you seen how dimples grow in her cheeks when she smiles at me? She's timelessly beautiful. Have you ever seen her when she sleeps, when her beautiful eyes aren't open to the world and she doesn't smile? Even then, she's beautiful. She strikes the eye like no other does. If you haven't, you've missed something incredible. If you haven't, maybe you'll never get the chance to see it –– maybe I'm the only one who has had that chance.

These two words are not un-commonly associated with the fairer sex, yet neither can describe the mate of my soul now. When one considers the original, dictionary-limited meaning, however, both definitely do belong in the amalgamation of words makes up my wife.

She's wise and perceptive, loyal and giving. She gets me like no one else ever has or will. She loves me like no other could or would, like I would never allow another to love me either.

I could write novels about the epitome of everything wonderful she is, because a million words could not describe the immensity of what she is and what she means to me accurately. No hundreds of papers would be enough for me to do so. Yet, altogether, I could not write a single word down on paper. While a million words don't even seem to satisfy, neither does just one, because there is not one word whether combined with others or not that could fit with my tale.

The way we are together is like a book as well, and an insanely good one. I had a curiosity about me the first few pages I turned, excited at gathering all the new information and getting slowly familiar with the lines she wrote as she got comfortable with the story I wrote, as well, until we both became familiar enough to let the storylines merge together, partially by choice but also because that's what was meant to happen. The storylines fit in every way, were interwoven seamlessly without issues, and now we're the co-authors of a wonderful tale in which love or longing for each other doesn't fade no matter the new twists and turns we offer each other and come across by inevitable happenings that make a romance novel.

I would like to peak at the ending very often, although we know the epilogue is filled with great happiness… even if that part still has to be written.

* * *

Author's Note: This fanfiction is dedicated to my wife, _Renard Noir_. I love you more than anything, princesse.


End file.
